


An Immovable Object, An Unstoppable Force

by QQSuited



Series: The Paradox Collection [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: But compliant in most regards, Canon Divergent, F/F, Fake Character Death, Fix-It, Just... Root aint dead, No definitely some humor, Post canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Root is Alive, Some Humor, shoot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QQSuited/pseuds/QQSuited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reports of Root's death have been greatly exaggerated. </p><p>Shaw and Baby Machine carry on with the mission. Samaritan's last remaining stronghold goes up in flames. And even death can't keep Root away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Immovable Object, An Unstoppable Force

**Author's Note:**

> This is my questionable attempt at a Person of Interest/Root and Shaw Fix-it. Because I refuse to believe that Root, of all people, is dead, that Shaw went through hell and fought her way back just to lose her safe place and that Finch is the only one who gets a happy ending…
> 
> This one absolutely got the Eff away from me…
> 
> Full disclosure – I know nothing of how viruses, malware, worms, et al, are written, coded and applied, other than viruses, malware, worms, et al, are bad, bad things. Apple, Microsoft and my IT department have repeatedly told me so… This is my first POI/Shoot fanfic, (I’m a much better comedy writer and while POI had its wry, chuckle-y moments, it was not gut-bustingly funny stuff), and I’m aware there are probably plot holes big enough to drive a bus through, so take all that follows with a block of salt. 
> 
> Also, my humble apologies if I don't get these two right, because I only want to present them as the fantastic characters they are. 
> 
> This work is un-beta'd. Any and all errors are my own...

_**Present Day** _

 

Samaritan was dead. Its core code was corrupted beyond repair. What the ICE-9 virus did not destroy, a worm, called simply **Oregon Trail** , completed the job. Uploaded at the last remaining Samaritan server farm in western Kansas, Oregon Trail reduced Samaritan to a simple line of deteriorating code that's only command was the ordering of 75 pizzas to be delivered to the office of Senator Garrison every three days.

On the day that Oregon Trail destroyed itself, it released to every major news organization the details of Garrison’s role in the now-defunct Northern Lights program; including, but not limited to, handing over matters of National Security to a foreign national of questionable character by the name of John Greer, allowing the assassinations of dozens, if not hundreds, of American citizens and, albeit indirectly, a missile strike on a Manhattan office building that killed a highly decorated American Special Forces veteran and several other unknown victims. For fun, it also included more than three dozen photos of Garrison in compromising positions with a couple of his male staffers, a donkey and several gallons of baby oil.

In the fickle ways of Americans and their politicians, the esteemed Senator Garrison’s political career was, indeed, kaput; however, the masses took exception more to the possible abuse of the donkey rather than the deaths of innocent Americans and any other inappropriate and questionable political dealings he may have engaged in.

Go figure…

Now, Samaritan operatives were on the run, their numbers few and scattered. And getting smaller as each day passed and another operative met their end.

One warm Kansas summer night, seven and a half months after the fall of Samaritan, after the loss of John Reese and Root and the disappearance of Harold Finch, the malevolent ASI’s last remaining server farm erupted into flames following several explosions deep within the installation. The resultant prairie-fire glowed brilliant red-orange against the iridescence of a Kansas sunset, witnessed only by the residents of a nearby ranching community and a lone figure on a high plains ridge.

The only thing missing, the mysterious figure thought with no small amount of pleasure, was some popcorn.

Or maybe an apple.

 

_**Tompkins Square Park, East Village** _

 

_There’s been a great disturbance in the Force.”_

Sameen Shaw jerked to a stop in the middle of her throwing motion. “Seriously?” she growled at Root’s simulated voice in her ear. After a moment, she heaved the tennis ball for Bear to chase across the grassy expanse of the park on a rare afternoon free from numbers. “Are you really quoting _Star Wars_ at me?”

 _“I thought you enjoyed my sense of humor, Sameen,”_ Baby Machine replied.

Shaw snorted. “You thought wrong. I didn’t think it was possible, but it’s actually worse than Root’s.”

The Machine actually huffed in annoyance. _“As I was saying, something has happened.”_

There was a pause. A long pause. Shaw rolled her eyes again, something she did quite frequently when dealing with what she now sarcastically referred to as Baby Machine. _Fucking Drama Queen_ , she thought to herself, even as the image of Root came unbidden to her mind, her head cocked to one side, eyes glazed in rapt attention, listening to her previous god speaking in her head. “Are you going to spill it or not?” Shaw snapped, patience taxed to nth degree.

_“Several underground explosions and the resulting fire destroyed a Logan County electrical cooperative station 35 miles southeast of the unincorporated town of Page City, Kansas last night.”_

“And? This is interesting, and relevant, exactly how?”

Baby Machine sighed in exasperation in Shaw’s ear. _“Wildcat Cooperative had no installations in this area of the county, Sameen. The underground facility was a Samaritan server farm. It was the very last of their remaining farms after the Fall.”_

“What are you saying?” she growled as Bear trotted back to her. She hooked his lead onto his collar, pocketed the tennis ball and started for home. “And try to be succinct.”

_“I would think it’s obvious, Sweetie. Someone destroyed that installation.”_

“Okay, who? And stop calling me that.”

_“I don’t know. And make me.”_

Shaw pursed her lips and shook her head. “I liked you better when you didn’t have a personality- you know what, scratch that, I’ve never liked you. I tolerated you better when you didn’t have a personality.”

A mechanical gasp. _“You wound me,”_ Baby Machine purred in her ear.

“You know, the more you learn, the more obnoxious you get. Kinda just like Root.”

_“Oooh, now that’s high praise, indeed, Sameen.”_

Shaw rolled her eyes. Despite what she said, she did miss the verbal sparring she would engage in with the woman who had come to mean so much to her. And she would never admit it to the bucket of bolts yapping in her ear, but she was grateful to it/Her for keeping that memory alive.

Arriving back at her apartment after the short walk from the park, Shaw unlocked the door and unhooked the leash from Bear’s collar, watching him trot across the hardwood floor to his bed. “You had no eyes on site?” she queried.

_“There were no video feeds.”_

“That makes no sense, why would Samaritan not have cameras in their own facility?”

 _“All video and audio feeds were disconnected.”_ The Machine paused. _“Well, that’s weird.”_

“What is?”

_“All surveillance feeds from the facility were lost months ago and there had been no activity within since Samaritan fell. The entire facility appeared dormant and abandoned. Until six weeks ago.”_

Shaw began to fear one day she’d roll her eyes so hard and so many times that her optic nerves would snap. “Why is that weird?”

 _“Because whoever entered the facility spent several days accessing a dead computer system and somehow managing to upload a worm that reactivated part of the program. It then corrupted any and all code the ICE-9 did not.”_ The Machine suddenly laughed. _“It also sent 75 pizzas every 3 days to Garrison’s office in DC. And charged them all to his Capitol bank account at a cost of $19561.92. Overdrew his account by $12452.64.”_

That made Shaw chuckle. “Serves the bastard right.” She went into the kitchen and found a bottle of Finch’s top shelf single malt scotch in the cabinet, filling a glass with the amber liquid and taking a healthy swallow.

 _“Yes, it was all coded within this worm.”_ The laptop on the desk flickered on, the screen awakening with a rather unsavory photo of a naked Senator, two other men and a donkey. _“And this.”_

“Oh, crap!” Shaw exclaimed, turning her head away from the image quickly. “Thanks a lot, I’ll never be able to unsee that.”

_“And that was one of the many decidedly less explicit photos released to the press.”_

“Jesus…” Shaw took big gulp of the 15-year old single malt in her glass. “One of your predecessor’s new minions?”

Baby Machine understood what she was asking. _“I don’t know, but it doesn’t appear so. I can, however, determine the whereabouts of all of Her known Assets and state with an 89.9675% certainty that it was not them.”_

Shaw rolled her eyes again. “You can’t just say 90%?” She paused. “Finch?” she asked, her voice catching on the name. Neither she nor Fusco had heard from Harold since the Fall.

_“Negative, Harry is in Italy with Grace. While they have traveled extensively, they have not exited the country.”_

Sometimes, Shaw struggled with the dichotomy that is the Baby Machine’s voice. The lilting, teasing humanity of Root sprinkled with the vocal manner of something obviously not of flesh and blood. It had all of Root’s inflections and idiosyncrasies down but on a jarring occasion used the precise manner and verbosity of Harold Finch. Baby Machine wasn’t quite there with being all Root yet.

Shaw wasn’t sure she cared if that ever came to pass as the final trip in the Subway car flooded her mind unbidden. **_“I chose you for exactly who you are. But there was something I think Root had wanted to say to you. You always thought there was something wrong with you. Because you don’t feel things the way other people do. But she always felt that was what made you beautiful. She wanted you to know, that if you were a shape, you were a straight line. An arrow.”_ ** Shaking off the memory of the Machine’s- and in essence Root’s- last words to her, Shaw grimaced and channeled her fed-up side.

“Why did you not know about this when it happened six weeks ago? What good is an all-seeing ASI if it’s not all-fucking-seeing?”

_“There’s no need to be rude, Sameen. While my processes are slowly advancing past a stage of infancy, I am not there yet. It will take a while longer before I reach the full capabilities of my predecessor.”_

“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah.” She shook her head. “Just… keep working on it.”

 _“Yes, boss,”_ the Machine replied with a smirk in her voice.

And there it is, the learning curve on the way to full-Root. “And don’t call me that.”

 

_**Meatpacking District, New York** _

 

Someone was watching her. Even sitting with her back against the brick wall of an outdoor café, Shaw could feel eyes on her. The hair at the nape of her neck prickled as she slowly, surreptitiously, scanned the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. A stray glance, a blatant stare, an obvious look away.

No one was paying her any attention, nothing was out of the ordinary. It was just another late summer day in the Meatpacking District and a busy café with a lot of hipster wannabes pretending to be clever and urbane. So far, she and Bear had spent 6 hours shadowing their latest, incredibly phony and obnoxious, number with the even more incredibly phony and obnoxious name of Ansel Miller, hoping he would make some kind of mistake so she could effectively kneecap him, just to make up for the mind-numbing boredom of her day.

Still, Shaw couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes taking in her every move. She glanced up at a nearby traffic camera and glared.

“Is that you?” she demanded into her earwig.

There was a whir and popping through the comm link. _“Is what me?”_ Root’s silky voice replied once the line cleaned up.

“Are you staring at me?”

_“Sameen, sweetie, I do not stare. I admire.”_

Shaw growled under her breath. “Are you _admiring_ me right now?” she ground out.

There was a chuckle. _“While I_ always _admire you, my beautiful Sameen, I am currently scanning the neighborhood for locations associated with the number. I’m still not sure why this particularly boring weasel’s number was kicked out…”_

“Ugh,” Shaw replied with a roll of her eyes. “Seriously, _don’t_ call me _that_. I’m not your anything.”

 _“Sameen Shaw is currently my lone Primary Asset,”_ Root’s voice responded indignantly. _“So, yes, you are my something.”_

Shaw opened her mouth to respond with something cutting- or vulgar- or both- when the hair on her neck stood up again. “Okay, I’m not kidding, look around and let me know if you find anything. There is someone watching me.”

_“Will do, Sweetie.”_

The comm link clicked off and Shaw sat back in her chair, her quick gaze darting around the café and the street beyond. The sensation of being observed was strong and she couldn’t help but reach up with a finger to touch the skin behind her left ear.

Nothing.

She knew there was nothing there. It had been eight months since Samaritan fell. While she still had moments of PTSD from her time as Greer’s guinea pig, since the Fall Shaw had taken huge strides in her recovery. She knew full well this was not a simulation. Reese was still dead, Finch was still in Italy, Fusco was still a pain in the ass and Root was still not coming back. There had been no reset, this was reality.

But sometimes… sometimes the touch was her security blanket. Especially in moments like this with the overwhelming sense of being observed. Greer was a creep that way, enjoying watching her simulations. Shaw sneered. Wrinkly old fucker probably got off watching her and Root getting it on in her mind.

She still regrets that she didn’t get a chance to double-tap the perverted asshole for what he’d put her through. Seriously, he killed himself by purposely suffocating? What a stupid way to die. She'd had to console herself with having been the one to end both Jeremy Lambert and the little bitch who’d killed Root.

Sighing, she took a drink of her tea and grimaced, wishing for something stronger, when she caught her number out of the corner of her eye as he paid his check and rose to his feet.

“Hey, Baby Root,” Shaw muttered, throwing some bills on the table, grabbing Bear’s leash and getting up to follow the dweeb. “Asshole’s on the move.”

 _“Ansel,”_ Root’s voice responded.

“What?”

_“His name is Ansel.”_

“Ansel, Asshole, whatever. He’s moving. Got anything on this guy yet?”

Baby Machine sighed in Shaw’s ear. _“No, nothing. I can’t determine why his number came up. Other than maybe you needed to spend a day following a 30-something actor-slash-waiter in peg-leg jeans, bowtie and a trilby. There is nothing in his history that would indicate why his number would come up.”_ There was a pause. _“And did you just give me a nickname? I think you did. You gave me a nickname.”_

“What? No. Shut up.” Shaw shook her head and rolled her eyes. She followed about 15 paces behind Hipster Dude, mirroring his progress down the street. “If he goes into that all things Vegan store, I’m calling it. I can’t go into a grocery store that doesn’t have red meat in it, I’ll break out in hives.” Miller turned into the store, its bell jingling as he pulled open the door. “Okay, that’s it. I’m done. I’m going home.” She turned back the way she’d come. “And you need to run a diagnostic or I’m coming down to the Subway to kick you in your PS3’s.”

Baby Machine chuckled in her ear. _“Very kinky, Sameen.”_ There was a momentary pause and the pop of static. _“But you know I no longer use the game consoles, right? I downloaded directly from the satellite to Harry’s system.”_

Shaw huffed. “You keep talking like I give a crap about what you’re saying. I’m going home and taking a nap. Don’t disturb me unless Lionel is calling for some stupid reason. Got it?”

_“Got it, Sweetie. “_

“Don’t-.”

_“Don’t call you that, yes, I know.”_

Growling, Shaw started back toward her loft in Alphabet City. It had been a long, boring, completely unproductive day. But the sensation of being watched, and the hair standing on end on the back of her neck, kept Shaw alert for the remainder of her walk.

 

_**Shaw's Loft, Alphabet City** _

 

Two days later, both Shaw and Baby Machine decided Ansel Miller’s number coming up had been an anomaly. Part of a system still in its infancy working through and rebuilding code and correcting that code when an error like this happened.

Which was a good thing because Shaw had come close to shoving Miller’s stupid fucking trilby up his ass after another day of following him from one trendy pursuit after another with his ridiculously mustachioed pals. Granted, the craft brewery wasn’t so bad since she had gotten to savor plenty of good beer, but listening to the doofus and his friends yammering- incorrectly- about the brews they were sampling just proved they had absolutely no idea what the hell they were talking about.

And, seriously, handlebar mustaches? For fucks sake…

So Shaw was free for the evening. The Rangers and Devils were playing and she was in the mood for some hockey and the hopes a fight or two would break out. With the hatred these two teams and their fan-bases had for each other, it was highly probable, both on the ice and in the stands, as well.

 _“The Rangers have a 57.46% chance of winning tonight as they are, at this time, the better team,”_ Baby Machine droned in Shaw’s ear. _“They are also playing in Madison Square Garden, the home arena for the Rangers. They currently have a 72.81% winning record when playing at home-“_

“Do you do this all the time?” Shaw snapped as she pulled a couple of take-out cartons containing her dinner from a brown sack.

_“Apparently, my predecessor was in constant conversation with her Analog Interface.”_

Shaw shook her head, digging her fork into a carton and shoveling its contents into her mouth. “No wonder Root was batshit crazy half the time,” she grumbled around the mouthful.

 _“From what I gathered from previous coding, the two of them were quite happy with the arrangement-.“_ The Machine stopped transmitting abruptly and Shaw could hear the crackle and pop of mild static followed by a whir of hardware. _“Sweetie, there’s an intruder in the Subway.”_

Without hesitation, Shaw stopped eating and left the kitchen. Shoving her favored HK USP Compact .357 into the back of her jeans, she grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. “Are you okay?”

 _“They have not attempted to access my system, they appear to just be observing from the shadows,”_ Root’s voice replied in a curious tone. _“I’m not sure of their intended purpose.”_ She accessed Shaw’s laptop and activated the camera, watching the woman prepare to exit. _“Take Bear with you. He is an attack dog, you know.”_

Shaw nodded. “Bear. Komen.” The Belgian Malinois immediately jumped from his bed and trotted to Shaw’s side, waiting patiently for her to attach his lead. “This connected to me being watched earlier?” she wondered as human and dog headed out to the street. "Can you see anything?”

_“I can't say with any certainty. And whoever it is either knows where the cameras are or is just incredibly lucky.”_

“God dammit,” Shaw muttered under her breath. “I really wanted a night in…”

 

_**Team Machine Subway Platform, Chinatown** _

 

A brisk walk to Doyers Street in Chinatown later, Shaw and Bear were moving cautiously down the nondescript stairwell to the unused storage area and the spot where their vending machine entrance once stood. After the Fall, Shaw had taken some of the funds left behind in Finch’s absence to secure the entrance and repair the hole left by train car’s escape, but she had not returned to the Subway platform since that fateful day.

Slipping past the steel door, Shaw held tightly to Bear’s lead, her gun up and pointed forward, preparing for whatever lay down the last set of stairs. Muted light bled up the stairwell allowing her to watch her step down to the platform. The giant hole blown out during the train car’s escape had been patched with brick and steel. Dust, rubble, tile and chunks of plaster littered the concrete floor but every computer in the cavernous space was awake and running multiple programs.

Shaw stumbled to an abrupt stop as memories suddenly assailed her; Finch at his desk researching numbers, Root in that stupid bear costume trying to cheer her up, Reese bringing her sandwiches when she was confined below ground. She shook her head to clear it and stepped forward once more.

In the light of the platform, Shaw could see footprints in the thick dust on the floor. Gripping Bear’s leather leash in her hand tighter, listening to the material give a comforting creak; she wrapped her fingers around the hand gripping the HK. She moved further onto the platform, her eyes scanning the area, alert and prepared.

“Anything?” she whispered in the silence.

 _“No,”_ Root’s voice responded just as softly. _“Whoever this is knows how to keep hidden.”_

“Show yourself,” Shaw ordered angrily, her voice bouncing off the platform walls. “I’m really not in the mood and I will kill you if you don’t step out into the light right fucking now.”

The silence was deafening and her ears strained for any sound, any disturbance in the air of movement. Then she heard the scrape of heel on concrete. She swung around to the tiled pillar on the far side of the platform, on the other side of the tracks where the train car once again rested.

A figure stepped out of the shadows, tall and slender, hands tucked into the pockets of a black jacket, so familiar that Shaw felt the earth shift under her feet, the breath completely knocked from her lungs. Bear suddenly strained at his leash, body quivering in excitement as he yipped happily.

“Root?” The name fell from her lips in shock. Breathless, stunned, unbelieving, hopeful shock.

 _“Root?”_ Baby Machine echoed in Shaw’s ear, a video feed finally locking onto the human form in the shadows.

The lanky figure stepped further into the light, that familiar, once-infuriating smirk on her lips. But this was slightly different. There was a sadness twisting those lips. Bittersweet and filled with exhaustion and pain. “Hello, Sameen,” that achingly sweet voice replied, its trademark sing-song quality ringing out in the high ceilings of the Subway platform. “Miss me?”

 _“She’s afraid,”_ Baby Machine murmured in her ear. _“Of your reaction.”_

“No shit, Sherlock,” Shaw muttered back under her breath, slowly lowering her weapon to her side. To be honest, Shaw had no idea exactly how she should react. What does one do when a friend, a comrade, someone so important to one’s own being, returns from the dead? Her fingers fell slack and she dropped Bear’s lead, allowing him to trot over to the other woman. The woman Shaw couldn’t take her eyes off of. “And just shut up for a minute, will ya?”

_“Don’t hit her.”_

Even though the thought had crossed Shaw’s mind, she growled, “Seriously, will you shut. The. Fuck. Up?!”

Unaware of the conversation Shaw was having with Baby Machine, Root looked around the Subway. Her eyes flitted from the nook she had furnished as a bedroom to the repaired gaping hole where the subway car, now returned to its original resting place, had fled the station all those months ago, to her jerry-rigged connection from the payphone to the recorder on Finch’s desk, all of it covered in a thick layer of dust and broken plaster.

“Quite a number you did on this place,” she joked as she stroked Bear’s head, her smirk firmly in place, if a little shaky. “But a bit of overkill, don’t you think?” She glanced at the monitors sitting on the old desk running the new numbers protocol, reading the rapid lines of code scrolling down the screens. Overwhelmed by what she was reading, she glanced back at Shaw with tears sparkling in her eyes. “She made it? And She’s still running?” she whispered anxiously, trailing her fingers reverently over the keyboard. Shaw managed a stuttering nod of her head and a slight shrug of her shoulders. “She talks to you?” she practically begged to know. “Is it really Her?”

Unable to take her eyes off the taller woman, let alone utter a sound, Shaw tracked her movements around the Subway platform. From the glance into her room to her quick tracking of the code on the monitors, Shaw was mesmerized by the sight of the hacker standing right in front of her.

Walking…

Talking…

…Breathing.

The volume was turned up to eleven and Shaw was overwhelmed.

In two quick strides, she reached for Root, one hand hooking behind the taller woman’s neck and pulling her forcefully into her arms. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, burying her face in floral-scented waves of hair, her other arm encircling Root’s waist in a vise-like grip, praying to whatever god there was, probably a smart-mouthed ASI, that this was real.

Instantly, Root relaxed against Shaw, arms wrapping themselves around the tiny Persian’s shoulders and holding on for dear life. A sob rent the air and neither woman could honestly say exactly which one of them it had come from.

Suddenly, the world seemed even lighter than it had become after the fall of Samaritan.

 

_**Shaw's Loft, Alphabet City** _

 

“Explain,” Shaw commanded approximately an hour later, handing Root a glass of water while cradling a glass of scotch in her other hand.

They had returned to Shaw’s loft via taxi after Shaw deemed Root too exhausted to make the relatively short walk from the Subway to Alphabet City. Root, for once, did not argue.

Ensconced on the sofa in the sitting area of Shaw’s loft, Root had tried to get comfortable. She ended up sitting askance, one leg tucked under the other, an elbow resting on the back of the sofa, head resting against her fist. Fatigue sank deeply into her bones as she listened to Shaw moving about the kitchen.

As if sensing her exhaustion, Bear padded to her side, his claws clicking on the hardwoods as he moved. Gently, he leaned heavily against her leg, his chin resting on her thigh. She put her hand on his head, scratching behind his ears as he leaned into her harder, happy to have her back. He had missed her as much as he had missed Shaw when she was Samaritan’s hostage. He didn’t understand why Finch had left him behind, but he was happy to be with the human he loved most. And now his other favorite human was back, too. One gave him giant rawhide bones and the other gave him soft bunny slippers, plus they gave him tasty food to eat. Yipping happily, he licked Root’s hand before jumping onto the sofa next to her, curling up against her side and resting his head on her thigh.

She accepted the glass of water from the Persian woman and sighed. “I’m sure Harold told you what happened. There was a sniper. Samaritan basically steered us in his direction. She warned me about him, the probability of him managing to kill Harold. She told me if he did that, there would be no way to win the war. I did what I had to do to keep Harold alive.” She took a sip of water, hand shaking slightly. “And She needed there needed to be a catalyst that would finally push him to set Her free so She could beat Samaritan…”

Shaw’s face turned thunderous. The previous version of the Machine had frequently held Her Analog Interface in such little regard. “Fusco identified your body, Root. He’s a cop, you can’t fool him. He’s seen hundreds of dead bodies, for fucks sake.”

“Lionel was not in on it, if that’s what you’re thinking. I wasn't even aware of her plan,” Root replied, tucking her hair behind her ear and sighing. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. “Medically induced coma,” she explained hoarsely.

Shaw shook her head, still having a hard time accepting what she was hearing. “He saw you lying on that fucking slab in the morgue, Root. He said you were dead. Lying there cold with your eyes open and not breathing dead.”

“You were a doctor, Sameen. You should know many coma patients’ eyes are open even when they’re in a vegetative state.” She paused. “What Lionel saw when he identified my body was me in a medically-induced coma. Barely breathing, little brainwave functions, essentially dead.”

“Jesus,” Shaw breathed. “…Poor Fusco.”

Root sighed. “Yes, dear Lionel. I’m going to have to figure out a way to reveal myself to him without giving him a coronary. Is he still on that high-fat, low-quality fast food diet that might contribute to a heart attack?”

Despite herself, Shaw smirked. “Tell me everything.” she asked.

“From what I was told, Dr. Madelaine Enright was summoned by Her as soon as it became obvious I was going to die. Dr. Enright is a brilliant surgeon and former number Harry and John helped out several years ago. She became something of an Asset after that, more than willing to help whenever called upon. She was waiting for me in the ER and took me directly to surgery. I was told it was very touch and go for a while, but the good doctor managed to save my life. As instructed by Her, Propofol was administered while I was in the operating room to induce the coma and it looked for all the world like I was dead.” Another sigh as Root leaned her head in her hand once more. “The cops believed it to be so, Samaritan operatives believed it to be so. Lionel…” A shaky breath ended on a sob. “You…”

“How long,” Shaw demanded to know.

Root knew what she was asking. “Nineteen days, medically induced. Another five were because apparently I was just being stubborn.”

“You? No way.” The two shared a bittersweet smile. “Go on.”

“The implant was removed before my body was supposed to be claimed for burial. Dr. Enright had it implanted in a cadaver that supposedly resembled me and off it went to Potter’s Field. I guess She knew Samaritan’s people would come looking for it. And She felt they wouldn’t look too closely at the body since it was the implant they were most interested in.”

“Injuries?”

“Are you sure-?”

Shaw’s face darkened. “Injuries,” she bit out.

“I took a high-powered rifle round to the chest, just below the breastbone. A CDR-15 that used a 6.5 Grendel round.”

“I know, the little fucker had it on him when he and the other Samaritan agents destroyed the Subway.”

Root gave her a sad smile. “Luckily it was far enough below center mass or it would have hit either my heart or spine, killing me instantly. But it shattered five ribs and did an incredible amount of internal damage. Lacerated liver, collapsed lung, intestinal damage, massive internal hemorrhaging, ruptured spleen. Not to mention the amount of muscle damage done by the surgery.”

“Treatment?”

Root rolled her eyes. She was not a doctor. “I can’t give you specifics, but I know Madelaine patched me up very well. Repaired the liver, lung and intestines but the spleen was a loss and had to be removed.” Her eyes suddenly sparkled as she looked at the dark countenance of Shaw. "Can you still love me spleen-less, Sameen?”

Shaw snorted indelicately. “You never change, do you? Only you could turn a splenectomy into innuendo.” She sipped her scotch. “Recovery?”

“I was bedridden for several weeks, which, let me tell ya, ain’t fun, but once I was finally able to stand, I could only manage to walk five feet before my legs gave out or I couldn’t breathe. There was at least four and a half months of physical therapy before Madelaine would even consider releasing me.”

“Where were you?”

“Madelaine explained to me that I was taken the same day it all happened to a very private, very exclusive clinic in South Beach-.”

“South Beach?! You’ve been in fucking _SOUTH BEACH_?”

Root smirked. “I assure you, Sweetie, I was only there to recover. Once that was done and I was released, I left the sunny shore behind.”

“You took out those server farms?”

“No,” Root admitted with a shake of her head. “Well, not all of them. I guess there’s a Team in Washington?”

“You knew about them?”

“Sweetie, I had Her in my head before I- well, before all that happened. We talked. Shared secrets.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“They had to remain anonymous. Samaritan could not know She was building teams across the country, finding Assets to help fight. I knew there was a team in D.C., I knew what She would task them to do. But I couldn’t say anything so that they could continue to remain in the shadows and Samaritan wouldn’t be able to find them...”

Suddenly, Root blinked, her eyes losing focus for a moment. Shaw noticed how exhaustion seemed to sink into every inch of the taller woman’s frame.

“Stop fighting it and close your eyes,” she ordered, getting up to take her empty glass to the kitchen. “We’ll talk after you sleep.”

Root sighed softly. “You’ll be here when I wake up?” she asked in a small voice.

“Dude, it’s my fucking house. I think I’ll be here.”

Root chuckled. “Thank you, Sameen…” She put her head down on her arm on the back of the sofa, closing her eyes as her body relaxed. “I don’t ever want to wake up alone ever again…”

Pulling up short, Shaw turned to look at Root. The lines of exhaustion on her face, the dark purple bruises under her eyes, tugged at something deep within the shorter woman. “Never again, Root,” she assured the other woman, shaken to think of her waking after being comatose not knowing what had happened to her world. “Not as long as I’m alive.”

Root; however, heard nothing. She had already drifted into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waking more than two hours later, Root panicked at first upon finding herself alone until she heard the water of the shower running from within Shaw’s bedroom and Bear still pressed against her side. Rubbing her eyes and sighing, she got up to stretch and take a look around. Bear quickly jumped down and padded to her side, groaning in doggy bliss as she scratched behind his ears.

The loft was large, even by New York standards. Floor to ceiling windows, hardwood floors, thick Oriental rug beneath the seating area, 65” curved TV mounted to the wall. Much of the furniture looked strangely familiar, the dining room table, for one, and the sofa she had fallen asleep on. There was a contemporary styled desk to the left of the door to the master bedroom, a laptop open and running on its surface. Mesh-backed office chair with a black leather jacket draped over the back. Taking a step closer, Root recognized that jacket as one of hers.

She was wearing it when-.

She turned away shakily from the sight and wandered into the kitchen. Open, airy and state-of-the-art, it was filled with the latest high-tech appliances and gadgets. Shaw loved to cook almost as much as she loved to eat and it made Root smile that her Sameen now had a place worthy of her culinary talents.

Without the risk of detection by an evil ASI, Shaw had been able to find a permanent home. Not a safe house or a rundown studio apartment or a series of cheap motel rooms, but a safe, permanent place to return to at the end of a long day.

Running a hand along the smooth concrete countertop, Root noticed the basket on the far edge by the block of chef’s knives and stumbled to a stop. It was filled with red apples.

Root unsuccessfully bit back a sob. If she ever had any doubts about what Shaw felt for her, this destroyed them. Even after believing Root to be gone forever, Shaw continued to stock her apartment with the taller woman’s favorite snack. She took an apple from the basket and cradled it reverently in her hands. A single tear tracked down her cheek as she settled back on the sofa once more and closed her eyes.

Shaw found her asleep there after emerging from her shower, one bright red apple clutched to her chest as she slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you thinking, Sameen?” Root asked softly.

They sat on the sofa eating the Chinese that had been delivered earlier. They hadn’t spoken much as they ate, unsure what to say, what topic would not be taboo, how to converse with one another again.

Shaw shook her head, pursing her lips in thought. “That I don’t know whether to kiss you for being alive or strangle you for letting me think you were dead.”

Root gave her a hesitant Root-smirk. “And which way are you leaning?”

 _“I think you should kiss her first,”_ Baby Machine offered her opinion.

Throwing a nasty glare at her laptop momentarily, Shaw poked at her Orange Chicken. “All things considered…,” she sighed. “I’d probably go with the kiss.” She caught Root’s satisfied grin out of the corner of her eye as Baby Machine chuckled in her ear. “And then strangle you in your sleep,” she added for good measure.

The tentativeness disappeared in an instant as Root’s smirk turned positively lascivious. “So, you plan on being close by when I’m in bed?” she purred, scooting closer to the shorter woman.

 _“Nice,"_ was murmured in her ear. _  
_

_Walked right into that one_ , Shaw thought with a roll of her eyes. “I changed my mind, I think I’ll strangle you first.”

“That can still be fun.” Silence fell and Root noticed the troubled look on Shaw’s face. “Come on, Sameen. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Where have you been all this time? It’s been almost 8 months-.”

 _“Seven months, 18 days, 34 hours, 42 min-,”_ Baby Machine supplied.

“Shut up, that’s not helping,” Shaw snapped towards the ceiling. She dropped her gaze back to the hacker sitting across from her. “Eight months, Root.”

Root got up and stalked across the loft before turning back to Shaw. “I was finishing what we’d started. I had read about the fall-out. I knew what had happened. I found out about John-,” she swallowed hard. _Stupid big lug_ , she thought. _Stupid, wonderful, loyal man._ “I had already known the location of the server farms. I knew Samaritan might have some salvageable code, no matter how deteriorated. I had to make sure it was done and could never be restored. I created the worm, traveled to each farm the other Teams hadn’t gotten to yet, uploaded it to the servers and destroyed the complexes. I missed it all while you risked your lives- died- to finish the war, it was my turn. When it was done, I came back here.”

“You could have come back as soon as you were released. We could have done this together.”

“Aw, Sweetie. You do care.”

“Root,” Shaw gritted out.

“Not until it was safe,” Root said in response to the unspoken words. She moved back to the sofa, dropping down once more at Shaw’s side and sighing. “It was too soon, I wasn’t going to do that to you so soon after everything that had happened. John was gone, Harold just disappeared. You and Lionel had been through enough. You deserved a chance to recover. I had gotten that time. It was your turn.” Root reached out and snagged Shaw’s hand before it could reach behind her ear, recognizing the move for what it was. “I’m real, Sameen. This is real. Samaritan is gone. You’re safe. I’m safe. It’s finally over.”

They talked well into the night, Root relaying details of her mission to wipe out all that remained of Samaritan’s operations, including removing any operatives she was able to track. She laughed as she told about coding the pizza deliveries to Senator Garrison’s office and shuddered delicately in regards to the photos she’d found of the good Senator’s highly questionable (and skeevy) sexual proclivities. She’d had no qualms about revealing them to the press.

Shaw responded with stories of how the numbers started coming again after the Fall and how she worked with the help of Baby Machine as its Primary Asset. She was able to do the work without having to hide in the shadows, having been left access to Finch’s vast fortune and network of safe houses, and no evil ASI wanting her dead. She explained how the Team in Washington, DC, assisted her in providing new identities for the people she saved and how Lionel stayed in touch with NYPD assistance. And the occasional dinner.

It was close to 4AM before they finally tired and seemed to run out of things to say.

Well, almost.

“I think I’d like my kiss now,” Root said with a tentative grin, the familiar twinkle in her eye.

“No,” Shaw replied with a scowl. “I haven’t decided if that’s what you’ll get first.”

“Sameen, you can’t give a girl the promise of a kiss and not follow through.”

“Watch me.” The darker woman got up to take their glasses to the kitchen, returning with more water for Root and scotch for herself. “I’m still trying to decide how I feel about all this,” she replied, taking her seat and staring straight ahead.

Root sighed as she sat up. “I wish there had been another way, Sweetie. I really do. Don’t you think I would have rather have been by your side fighting instead of knowing you thought I was dead? Instead of knowing we’d lost the Big Lug? And lost… lost Her?” She reached out a hand and gently turned Shaw’s face to hers. “Do you think I wanted to leave you? “

“This is fucked up six ways from Sunday,” Shaw replied. “You know that, right?”

“You mean, losing you to barely getting you back to losing you again? Oh, yeah, I know it.”

Shaw’s eyes zeroed in on Root’s, peering deeply into their amber depths. “These were the worst 8 months of my life, Root. I could handle everything Samaritan did to me, everything else that happened- Reese, Finch- but you being gone- I never thought…”

“I know, Sweetie. Believe me, I know.”

The air suddenly crackled with electricity as Shaw’s eyes drifter lower to Root’s lips. She surged forward and smothered Root’s mouth with her own.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss of warm emotion and tenderness. It was the heated touch of hunger and craving, a bit of anger, longing and want and an awful lot of desire. It was the touch of eight months of believing this would never happen again. Lips clung and parted, teeth nipped, tongues clashed in deep, voracious kisses. Shaw held Root’s face in her hands, trying to pull her tightly into her body, letting eight months of anguish and loneliness wash away with every touch. Her fingers slid into Root’s hair, gripping tightly, never wanting to let go again.

Root felt her world settle again, shifting back onto its Axis after months of disjointed and lost minutes, hours, days. She kissed Shaw harder, nipping at her lower lip before laving it gently with her tongue before dipping back between those lips to tangle with Shaw’s insistent tongue.

After long moments, they parted, but returned to kiss again and again before Shaw dipped her head and found Root’s pulse thumping beneath her lips. Confirmation that the woman in her arms was alive and breathing and not another dream that would vanish into mist once she opened her eyes. Her senses filled again with Root, the bane of her existence, yet the one who had fought for her, who got under her skin and into her heart no matter how hard Shaw had fought against it.

Shaw pressed forward, sending Root onto the sofa on her back. She rested on her forearms, hovering above the taller woman and took in her features as if seeing them again for the first time.

Well, the first time she actually enjoyed the view and wasn’t tempted to commit murder.

Something occurred to her suddenly as they relaxed into the sofa. “You killed Martine, didn’t you?”

Root nodded in the affirmative. “Snapped her neck like a twig,” she replied, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from Shaw’s cheek. “Thanks for the lessons on that, by the way.”

Shaw chuckled. “You’re welcome.” She paused, the tip of a finger drawing designs on a shoulder she knew harbored a scar from a bullet Shaw herself had fired. “I killed the guy who killed y- that I thought killed you.” She shook her head. “Ugly fucking ginger with a hipster beard and shit taste in interior design. I could have killed him just for that.”

“Well, look at us avenging each others supposed deaths. That’s positively touching, Sameen. So much better than a Hallmark card, don’t you think?”

Shaw rubbed her eyes hard before pinching the bridge of her nose. “Apparently being dead didn’t do anything for your flirting,” she said, rolling onto her side against the back of the sofa.

Root gave her a lopsided grin and a quirk of an eyebrow. “Some things even death can’t change.”

“God, I hate that I missed this.”

“No, you don’t,” the taller woman said, curling into Shaw’s side and resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder.

Shaw closed her eyes and let her head fall onto a throw pillow. “No,” she admitted, her arm curled around Root’s shoulders to hold her close. "I don’t..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 _“Sameen. Sweetie…”_ Root’s voice whispered in her ear. _“Wake up.”_

Shaw woke up still on the sofa with Root curled up against her. A glance down at the hacker’s face showed she was still fast asleep. “We’re going to have to do something about that voice,” she muttered. “I can’t have one Root in my ear and the other in my face.”

 _“Would you prefer I change my voice when speaking to you?”_ She asked. A pop and click of the earwig and Harold Finch suddenly filled her head. _“Would this be preferable to you for our working relationship, Ms. Shaw?”_ Another pop and click. _“How ‘bout this?”_ Fusco’s voice intoned. _“This work better for ya? You want me or Glasses in your ear?”_

“Okay, stop, please. We’ll figure something out.” Rubbing her eyes, Shaw settled back against the sofa as Root began to stir. “It might kill me first, but, hey…”

Baby Machine switched back to using Root’s voice. _“I would like to talk to her, if I could. I want to know more about my predecessor. I know Root can fill in the blanks I still have in my programming.”_

“I don’t know if she’s ready for you yet.” Shaw rolled her eyes as she thought about it for a moment. “I’ve had you in my ear for eight fucking months and I’m not ready for you yet.” She looked at Root, who was now wide awake and gazing at her questioningly. Shaw searched the other woman’s face for several moments before she seemed to settle on something. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Really?” Root asked, her face lighting up in anticipation of the reunion.

Shaw nodded in reply. “Be prepared, though, She chose a voice.”

Root beamed. “That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah, right, wonderful. Just be prepared to hear your own grating, annoying, inappropriately flirty voice yapping back at you.”

Root grinned. “You say the sweetest things. You just said I had the dulcet tones of an angel.”

“Uh, pretty sure that’s not what I said.”

“Potato, potahto…”

Shaking her head in amused indulgence, Shaw smacked a kiss on Root’s lips before going to the desk and opening a drawer. Reaching in, she returned with a small box in her hand, holding it out to Root with no ceremony.

Taking the small black box, Root opened it and saw an earwig nestled in the cotton. She plucked it out and examined it before slipping it into her ear canal. With a touch, she turned it on. There was a click and a whir followed by the mild popping of static.

Then there was humming. Hoobastank. _The Reason_.

Wow, irony.

 _“Hi, Sweetie,”_ She said suddenly. _“We haven’t officially met-.”_

Root startled and looked up at Shaw. “You’re right, that is annoying.”

 _“Really?”_ She interrupted before Shaw could respond, deliberately misunderstanding. _“I thought it was your favorite term of endearment. However, Sameen still objects to it.”_

Awed like a child experiencing their first Christmas morning, Root reached out and grabbed Shaw’s hand. Their fingers laced solidly, grip firm yet gentle.

“Can you hear me?” Root stammered, tears of joy springing to her eyes.

 _“Absolutely,”_ the Machine responded.

 

-This is not the end.  
It’s not even the beginning of the end.  
It’s the end of the beginning-

**Author's Note:**

> *Title comes from the unstoppable force paradox. Root is an unstoppable force when it comes to Shaw. And Shaw is a dangerously immoveable object. They are a paradox.
> 
> Thanks for indulging me and for reading!


End file.
